Freedoms over a Heart
by FrozenClaws
Summary: Enjolras is losing hope in the revolution. What does it take for him to gain back resolution? A crushed flower. A Enjolponine? Epojolras? Enjolras x Eponine One Shot


**Happy birthday silentflier!**

**...well, it isn't her birthday but...**

**Surprise!**

**I usually don't write fluff and thought I'd write up a bit of a surprise for her Aaron Tevit fangirl phase. **

**Just a bit of Enjolras x Eponine...if you can call it that :P**

**Copyright:**

**Inspired by the movie of Les Miserables which was inspired by the musical of Les Miserables which was inspired by Victor Hugo's book of Les Miserables. **

**The lovely cover photo is _Heart _by the fantastic deviant LiiQa. Check her out on !**

Enjolras stepped from the platform, hailing the cheering, shouting crowd. Two small boys glanced off his leg as they laughed and raced through the townplace.

"Enjolras!" A stout plump woman held a ragged, woven bag to him. "Coins for the revolution!"

"No need, madame!" Enjolras shouted over the crowd. "We have the supplies ready for a riot. Keep your ears open, madame, for preparation is almost done!"

"Vive la revolucion!" the woman shouted.

"Vive la revolucion!" Enjolras responded.

When he finally made it out of the crowd, he turned to Marius.

"No meeting today, Enjolras?' Marius said.

"No meeting. We're preparing for something big; I want our men to catch their breath for a day."

"You also, Enjolras?" Marius asked.

Enjolras grinned. "For the revolution, I'm always ready. Don't worry about me, Marius."

"Later, then," Marius said.

"Later, Marius."

When he made sure Marius was out of sight, he let out a pent-up sigh. He said the people of Paris would revolt soon, but the streets had been quiet for quite some time. He gave speeches in the streets, in ABC Café. ABC Café…it was all talk. Just talk. Exciting talks of dreams and visions, but not of reality. Would they ever free themselves from the king's repression? His sober thoughts were interrupted by a crazy bed of yellow hair.

"Monsieur!" a not-so-sober, twitchy-eyed man said. Enjolras couldn't help but note his frighteningly cheap and tacky suit. "You would like some wares, monsieur."

It wasn't a question. He grabbed Enjolras' wrist and dragged him into a makeshift tent. A woman with the same fidgety eyes was standing inside. Enjolras pulled away from the man, rubbing at his naked wrist. He blinked. Had he forgotten to wear his watch today? He jumped as he felt a hand brush his trousers. He shot a wild look at the woman and her wandering hand.

"Sit and be comfortable," the man said.

"Your, uh, name, monsieur?" Enjolras asked.

"Call me Master Thenardier."

Enjolras felt his coat being taken off. He grabbed the cuff of his red coat and turned to the disheveled man. He gave the sheepish smile a hard look.

"This coat…" He tugged the fabric away from his grubby hands. "…is mine. G'day, monsieur. Madame."

He promptly pushed the tent flap open and walked out. "But, monsieur!" the man cried.

Enjolras froze in his steps when the man grasped his shoulder. He spun around in realization.

"You-! You stole my watch!" Enjolras accused. He paused in puzzlement as a lock of chestnut hair and a pair of scissors disappeared into the man's pocked.

"-and, and my hair?" He ran his hand over his hair, making sure no serious was done. "Give my ha-my watch back, monsieur!"

"I'm being attacked!" the man suddenly cried.

Enjolras gave a quick glance at the Parisians staring. He realized what it looked like. With his fists that had unconsciously clenched, it was a tall young man that was about to beat down a helpless, older man. There was only one thing to do. He booked it.

After he'd escaped, he strolled around the city for a few fours. By the time the red sunset had been consumed by black night, Enjolras was walking along the river, balancing on the rock ledge. In the dimming light, the dank river was shimmering, dark, melted iron. He spun and dropped suddenly, sitting abruptly on the rock. He touched the water lightly with his boot, and elegant ripples shuddered across the silver water.

Ripples.

Hopefully the revolution spirit would reach to all the people of Paris. No. Of all of France! The ripple faded. He swiped with aggravation at the ground, thrusting a rock into the river. With a splash, water was scattered and disturbed the water's smooth surface.

They needed a sign. A symbol. _Something_ to rally the people. Enjolras sighed and stood. He needed to stop thinking in his free time. It was becoming a bad habit.

He looked up at the stars and started. He'd spent longer on his walk than he thought he had. He quickened his step. He didn't want to meet anymore thieves, especially in the dark. He unconsciously searched for his wallet in his back pocket.

It wasn't there.

He exhaled in frustration. That darn woman must've taken it. He was so lost in thought, he didn't notice the oncoming person until she was a few feet away.

"Oh-!" he gasped.

He grasped the person's shoulders to avoid the collision.

"Sorry, m-" He saw the stranger's bright eyes and long locks. "m-madame! I'm so sorry!"

He flushed at how familiarly he was holding her. He drew back and frowned when he noted her features.

"I know you!" they both exclaimed.

"I've seen your speeches," the young lady said, recoiling. "How do you know me?"

"Um-uh-" Enjolras stammered. He had thought she looked familiar, but now as he gazed into her curious eyes, any possible memory of this pretty girl was gone.

"What your name?" he asked suddenly. He winced. He was acting so familiar!

She didn't seem to mind. "Eponine Thenardier."

Eponine…what a pretty name. Wait-Thenadier? A brief memory arose.

"Your parents stole my things!" Enjolras exclaimed.

"Of course they did," Eponine said with a wry smile. "Is that how you recognized me?

"I suppose so. You and your mother share…" He paused, looking over her lively eyes, untouched complexion, and elegant features. Then he thought of Madame Thenardier. "…absolutely nothing."

She broke into a shy smile.

"Not!" Enjolras caught himself. "Not that I'm saying your mother's unattractive. She's a very, um, lovely woman. She-uh-"

"It's alright," Eponine said, laughing at his discomfort. "What'd they steal?"

"My watch, wallet, and, well, some of my hair."

"Well, you do have a very nice head of hair," she said. "I'll get them back for you. They have so many nabbed watches and wallets, they won't even notice."

"Thank you, Eponine," Enjolras said. "Would you like to come by ABC Café tomorrow? I don't think I want to meet your parents again if I have to, no offense."

Eponine's eyes lit up. "Is that where you plan the revolution?"

"Yes," Enjolras said hesitantly, his earlier thoughts weighing down his tone.

"Could I help?" Eponine asked.

Enjolras started. "Help plan the revolution?"

"Yes! I've been meaning to ask but I haven't had the courage? Can I?"

Enjolras began to protest, it was too dangerous for a girl! His stubbornness melted before her eager smile. He was becoming too soft. "Sure. There'll be a meeting tomorrow, early afternoon."

"Thank you, Enjolras!" she exclaimed, grabbing his hands. "Well, tomorrow then."

By that time, they had finally returned to the crowded disarray of Paris streets. She turned and Enjolras watched her until she disappeared a building wall. He clasped his hands together. His fingers tingled from where she had held his hands.

A light lavender morning fog still hung over Paris when Enjolras headed out the next day.

"Yes, one carnation, please," he said to the florist.

"The florist gave him a blood red one, small and delicate. Enjolras wrapped it carefully in a tissue. He had decided to buy a little something to give to Eponine. As thanks for her getting his stolen things. He sighed and looked at the crinkled white tissue. Who was he kidding?

With giddy anxiety, he slipped the carnation into his pocket and headed to ABC Café. Just thinking of her made his chest tighten.

He bounded up the stairs and gave Grantaire a curt greeting.

"Enjolras," Marius called, "you're in a fairly cheery mood."

"Am I?" Enjolras asked innocently. He wiped the grin that he hadn't even realized was there off his face.

Marius leaned in and lowered his voice. "There's a girl. Couldn't have been your doing?"

"Oh, it was," Enjolras said, casting a quick glance at her. She looked nervous. Much like he was at the moment.

"I thought this was a revolution," Marius said, only half-joking.

"She's heard our speeches," Enjolras said. "It's not like I'm trying to begin a-a courting service of the sort. She wants to help."

"We needed some recruits," Marius noted soberly.

"Always so _serious!_" Enjolras said, smacking him on the shoulder. He mustered a smile. "Get the men together. After I talk to Eponine, I have something to say.

He headed over to Eponine, feeling the carnation press against his chest. She perked up when she saw him coming.

"Here are your things, Enjolras," she said, dropping them into his hands. "I couldn't find your hair, sorry."

He chuckled softly and reached inside his coat. He opened his mouth to talk when Eponine suddenly leaned in close. Heat rose in his cheeks.

"Would you introduce me to Marius?" she whispered.

He started, his hand clenching abruptly around his coat. He instantly identified the shining look in her eyes. Marius? He would've never guessed.

"I'll introduce you to all of our men. And Gavroche, too. He's little one that's been helping out." He tried to sound nonchalant, but he couldn't keep the underlying bitterness out of his voice.

"Enjolras?"

"In a moment, Eponine."

He turned from her and unwrapped the crushed flower. It stained the white tissue with red juice. He cast it on the floor of ABC Café. Marius's words rang in his head.

_I thought this was a revolution. _

What was his purpose? His reason for life? Himself or the revolution? Eponine or the people of Paris? Some _unrequited love _or liberation from suppression of ignorant authority?

Who cared about his lonely soul? His life was merely a negligible thing. When historians inscribed beautiful stories on their parchments, he'd be hidden between the lines. He'd be nothing but an ink stain on a paper. A revolution was what'd be remembered. Not him or his heart's desire. After he died, there'd be nobody to remember him. It wasn't as if his life would be reveled like _Romeo and Juliet. _

He clenched his fist and began to walk to the front of the café. The revolution would happen. It _had _to. There was no other reason for him to live. Then, he paused and crouched to pick up the abandoned flower.

He slipped it near his heart.

**Well...hope you enjoyed!**

**Sorry for my horrible attempt to reference French language and grammatical errors (and for the annoying lack of accents xD) **

**I'm not a die-hard fan of Les Miserables, so if there are any inaccuracies, sorry again ;)**

**Once again, I hope you enjoyed it! **

**If like my friend, ~silentflier, you 3 Aaron Tevit, follow her tumblr! childofthetardis0197**


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